


I Knew That Look Dear, Eyes Always Seeking

by ladyofrosefire



Series: Like Real People Do [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy Swears, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fixing things before canon effs it up, Grounder Culture, Rituals, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Trigedasleng, Winter Solstice, other characters mentioned in passing, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part three of "Like Real People Do". Clarke and Bellamy are on the mend, as is their relationship, but pain doesn't go away just because there's someone there to lean on. But it can help.<br/>Bellamy and Clarke continue their cohabitation and the Trikru invite a group from Camp Jaha to participate in their Solstice celebration.</p><p>First two chapters are rated T, last is E.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cohabitation

**Author's Note:**

> Translations for Trigedasleng in notes at the end of the fic. Thank you to Macy, Savannah, emmasswann, and Joel for beta-reading.

Bellamy woke up because something was tickling his nose.

It was not an unusual event, considering how often he was not alone in his bed. He blinked, moved his head back, and then looked down at the woman in his arms. Clarke was tucked against his chest, still, a little furrow between her brows. One of her arms was folded between her body and his side. Her other hand rested spread on his chest.

Something beneath her hand tugged sharply.

 

Well, _shit_.

 

If that had been the end of it, maybe this would have been… well. Easier. Or at least something he could have shoved aside and worried about later. There was diplomacy to think of, and that demanded his full attention. Things had gotten a little… rough again, after the Mountain. Lexa had made one plan, and Clarke had executed another. The Clans had not taken that well. Any benefits that could have come from making a deal with the Mountain Men were dust. Lexa had no alliance to make her betrayal of the Sky People look like anything other than a coward’s move. That left her in the uncomfortable position of having to explain why she had worked with the group that had been kidnapping and torturing their people for about a hundred years, and then failed to get anything out of their arrangement.

Bellamy really couldn’t be fucked to pity her.

If that had been the end of the situation, he would have stepped back, waited for the dust to blow over, and then stepped back in once a new Commander had been chosen. But it was not.

Clarke was caught squarely in the middle of the whole damn mess.

The Clans looked at her and saw _Wanheda_. They looked at a woman who had only wanted to heal and saw the blood on her hands and nothing more. Perhaps it would have bothered him less if they had seen the same on him. Perhaps then he could be of more help, share the burden the way that he had tried to all those months ago.

He was starting to think the Grounders did not quite get the concept of shared blame.

 

Indra understood, at least. She had agreed to act as their go-between, arranging meetings with all the various clan leaders in hopes of maintaining the fragile peace. In spite of the mess with the Commander, Lincoln, and Octavia, she still liked them well enough to offer them that. Clarke, for obvious reasons, did not have much to do with the various clans. Whether they thought she was a hero for killing the Mountain Men, or a monster, all of them wanted to discuss that day. Bellamy could stand it better. He had worked out how to tell the story so that their people looked good without sounding egotistical. It helped, too, that his sister was assimilating so well. The Trikru were willing to work with them, at the moment. They just had to be very, very careful not to drive them away.

With winter only a few days away from settling in fully, they needed all of the help that they could get.

           

All of this, and he had woken up to Clarke in his arms.

His timing was fucking incredible.

* * *

The next evening, he approached her again. Clarke stood near the fire, her arms wrapped around herself, the evening breeze ruffling her hair. Bellamy took in every detail, from the furrow between her brows to the lack of a cup in her hand, and then reached out to touch her shoulder. She did not jump, which was good. She was making progress.

Clarke looked up at him, her blue eyes clear, but guarded. She made no move, verbal or otherwise.

Bellamy drew a breath. “I was wondering… you got a real cabin yet?”

The look on her face told him she had not found that any subtler than it had sounded to him, but as long as she did not pull away, he did not care.

“You know I don’t.”

He shrugged. “Alright. So come back to mine.”

For a moment, they only looked at one another. He had managed to make that sound _somewhat_ casual, at least, but he knew that Clarke had caught the note of strain in his voice. He let his expression go soft, just in case she thought that he was only offering out of a sense of obligation.

Clarke looked away, chewing on the inside of her lip. “Bellamy--”

“I mean it. Come with me.” He sounded surer, this time.

He had to wait a full minute or more before she finally replied.

“Alright.” Clarke sighed, and then turned on her heel.

Bellamy followed her as she marched back to his cabin, her back straight and her hair gleaming. She was getting healthier already, now that she was home. It would take more time before the hard angles of her bones were hidden again. She was getting there, though, slowly. There was light in her eyes when she smiled at him and stepped into the cabin. Her limbs did not shake as she lay tucked against his side.

There were no nightmares.

 

Were those changes as visible in him? He had let his hair grow too long-- Octavia kept threatening to cut it. He had been training, so he had not turned sharp, the way she had. There were new scars on his body. The worst were the burn scars, lying spiderwebbed and discolored across the backs of his shoulders. They were fading, and would fade further, but they would always be visible. Clarke had not seen them. If, last night, he had not stopped her, she would have. She would have blamed herself.

Earth had marked both their bodies.

Bellamy cradled Clarke’s as they slept.

 

He asked her back the next night, of course. What else could he do? She accepted, and he did not try to think about why or why not, because that made it easier for both of them. They both slept better when the other was close, and he was used to sleeping with minimal space. When Octavia had been little, they had slept tucked into the same bed, with his body between her and the door to shield her from sight.

This was _nothing_ like that had been.

The third time he invited her back to his cabin, they woke in the middle of the night, him first, and then her. She was pressed against him in a rather different way than she had been when they had fallen asleep, one of his legs caught between her thighs, her breasts pressed flush against one side of his chest. He made some sort of noise, clearly, because she woke, and then jerked away from him. It was too dark for him to see if she was blushing, but he could feel heat on the back of his own neck.

She began to draw away “I--”

“Go back to sleep, Clarke.” His arms tightened around her instinctively. “Unless you’re uncomfortable. I don’t-- I don’t care, alright? So don’t leave for my sake.”

Clarke hesitated, staring down at him. The thin stream of moonlight that slipped through the crack in the shutters barely revealed where her head was. A moment later, she nodded, and then lay back down, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

 

In the morning, Clarke rose first, since she slept on the side of the bed away from the wall. She did not mention what had happened, or try to apologize. She did not jump away from him. Bellamy sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and looked at her for a moment. Clarke looked back at him, her hair hanging in a wild tangle.

Finally, she sighed. “You want to talk about it?” The explanatory gesture, while subtle, was extremely unnecessary.

“Not sure if you did.” He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sleep-roughness. “We good?”

“Honestly?” The corner of Clarke’s mouth quirked. “I’m more surprised that _Bellamy Blake_ is a cuddler.”

He stood, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You didn’t seem that surprised.”

“I wasn’t.”

Clarke pecked him on the cheek, and then was gone, letting a cold gust of morning air in to fill the space she had occupied.

 

The next night, she cornered him after dinner and stood, back to the bonfire. Clarke shifted from foot to foot, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes on his as if expecting to need to stare him down. It made his heart break just a little to see it.

“Do you want me to come back to yours again?” She asked.

Not ‘may I’, nothing about if she should or could. She wanted to know if he wanted her.

It was almost a silly question.

“Come on, princess. You can keep me warm.” He said instead, and tugged her against his side with an arm around her shoulders as he walked off to his cabin.

 

He took the next day off to build a bigger bed.

It took almost that whole day, and he got a few odd looks while he was hauling the wood, nails, and hammer back to the cabin. Raven had been understanding, and grateful to have her cot back.

“Planning on expanding the cabin, Blake?” She asked as she pushed the jar of nails toward him.

He looked down, a muscle tightening in the corner of his jaw.

“Okay. I get it. Don’t ask. You… just… good luck, okay? You both deserve it.”

Bellamy took the nails with a grateful smile. “You too. Don’t you dare settle for anything less than what you deserve. I’d hate to have to kick Wick’s ass.”

That drew a smile from her. “Like you’d beat me to him.”

Bellamy nodded. “Fair enough. How ‘bout I just hold him still for you if he ever fucks up?”

She gave him a lazy salute, and then turned back to whatever bit of mechanical bullshit she had been tinkering with when he had walked in. “Go build a better bed so you can and Clarke can bone, Blake.”

He laughed, and then turned to go, trying not to feel the flush on the back of his neck. “Screw you.”

“You did that already!”

           

The thing was that the Council strongly encouraged cohabitation. It took a smaller quantity of materials to build a slightly larger cabin than it did to build two small ones. Shared walls, and so on. Bellamy had lived on his own since before the Mountain. But for most of that, he had been so surrounded by people that half the time he had felt as though the tent’s canvas might as well have not been there.

Besides, he had not slept alone very often.

Now, thick, wooden walls cut him off from the rest of the camp. Late at night, he could hear nothing except the forest’s sounds, the wind--

\--and more recently, Clarke’s steady breathing.

He paused half way through rigging up some way to make a large enough bed that could still fold into the wall to imagine what it would be like to actually live with her. Camp life kept them both pretty busy, so he doubted it would be very different, but…

Bellamy cleared his throat, shook himself, and then went back to work.

           

Clarke raised her eyebrows at him when she saw the new bed that night, but she said nothing.

* * *

Very few among their people were surprised upon learning that the Grounders had their own celebrations. Clarke had returned shortly after the celebration for the final harvest. Now, as the nights grew longer and the days grew colder, they neared the winter celebration. It lasted two days. On the first, they mourned the past year and cast away its burdens. Blood debts could settled through a trial by combat that was only fatal if the accused party lost. Only the person accused could call for the trial. If they earned death, it would be swift. The second day was the true celebration, meant to welcome back the light. There had been hundreds of similar holidays before they had nuked the planet, usually grouped around this same time of year. The grounders called theirs ‘ _Long Night’_.

The Skaikru received their invitation to join the Trikru in their celebration early in December. While the rest of the Council deliberated over what they could afford to bring as a gift-- they settled on a couple barrels of the moonshine they had all sworn to know nothing about-- Bellamy tried to talk Clarke into going with them. It was only a few days before they had to leave before he made headway.

“You’re one of our leaders. They respect you-- if you don’t go…” Bellamy shook his head. “We can’t afford to insult them.”

“They’re _afraid_ of me, Bellamy. There’s a difference. They don’t-- they can’t really want me there.”

He took her hands in his. “They invited you. Besides, I do. Clarke… it’s about forgiveness. Do yourself a favor. Do _me_ a favor. Come with us.”

She looked at him for a moment, face illuminated in the light of the single lamp in his-- their?-- cabin, and then sighed. “Alright. But you’re the leader here, now.”

“You know that’s only half true.”

That actually got her to laugh, if not laugh happily. “Well… alright. But you’re still representing us to them.”

He smiled, and then leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Fair enough, princess.” He murmured.

Then Bellamy lay down in his-- their-- bed and tucked Clarke in against his side.


	2. Long Night

They left for TonDC bright and early the next morning, riding on horses that Indra had sent as a gesture of goodwill. None of them were too obviously mutated, mercifully. Bellamy sat a little uneasily on the one he’d been allotted, still a little less than comfortable trusting something as large and flighty as a horse not to throw him into the dirt and trample him at the first unexpected noise. Clarke was tense, as well, but it was clear enough that her reasons for nervousness and his were not the same. For him, the fact that the ride was shorter than it used to be was a blessing. For her, every yard they put behind them deepened her anxiety. The city, town, whatever the fuck Bellamy was supposed to call it, had moved a short distance after it had been blasted to a crater. Now, it was mostly whole again, even if some of the Trigeda swore they could still smell the sap when they entered their homes.

Learning why the first TonDC had been destroyed had been-- Octavia had told him first, and Indra second. They had spoken of the Commander’s deception. His sister had laid the blame with Clarke, as well. He had asked her about it shortly after she returned, after that first night when she came to visit him and he told her about the Mountain. She had let an entire city burn _for him._ He had stared at her, trying to fit the information into his map of what had happened around the time that they brought down Mount Weather, and Clarke had taken the silence to mean that he was horrified with her. Her expression had shifted from shame to confusion when he finally managed to ask her why the fuck she had decided he was worth that kind of a sacrifice.

Her only reply had been his name, so quiet that he had barely been able to hear it.

 

It was nearly nightfall when they finally arrived in TonDC. Their group was very small, but not so small that some sharing of quarters was not necessary. Abby and Kane took one of the small shelters offered. Lincoln and Octavia took the second, which Bellamy tried not to think about. That left the last for him and Clarke to share. It was something of a relief not to have to explain why they wanted to sleep in the same room, especially given the look that Abby shot his way. He bristled a little under it, reminded himself that he was not on the Ark and that he was Clarke’s equal, and _Abby’s_ equal on Earth, and then went to set up. There were two beds in the hut, arranged near the walls, so as to avoid the smoke from the central fire pit. Each was comprised of a pile of thick, warm furs laid over a pallet of rushes. It was more comfortable than the makeshift mattresses that they had back at Camp Jaha. Bellamy and Clarke moved the beds so they were side by side, and then lay down to sleep, their hands clasped between them.

When they woke, Clarke was tucked into his arms again, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. They separated, taking turns to wash themselves with the water provided, which they could heat over the central fire, and mix to the right temperature in the basin. Once they were dressed, they reunited inside the door of the little house.

Already, they could hear noises outside. People were cooking, calling back and forth to one another. He could hear the tramp of feet in the city. Clarke and Bellamy eyed one another for a moment, and then ducked outside to join in the first day’s festivities.

Breakfast seemed to have started already. What was left sat next to or over communal fires to keep it warm. He and Clarke took their share, and then ate as they explored. Even at a casual glance, Bellamy could see that everyone here had taken pains to neaten their appearance, their clothes dark and clean, their hair neatly braided. None of the warriors they passed had warpaint. There was one notable exception. Already, people were coming forward to absolve themselves of the crimes of the past year. Those who fought for themselves had painted their arms red up to the elbow, as though they had dipped their hands in blood. The people they passed gave them a wide berth.

Bellamy caught Clarke looking at them and leaned down to whisper to her. “Don’t even think about it.” He warned her. She looked up at him, ready to protest, but Bellamy only raised his eyebrows. “If you try to fight, I’ll ask for trial by combat, too.”

Her gaze went flinty. “Bellamy, you can’t do that.”

“I can.” He replied, and then stopped abruptly as she stepped in front of him.

“No. I mean you can’t keep throwing yourself into danger just to keep me out of it.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know that.” Bellamy sighed, and then reached out to rest a hand on one of Clarke’s shoulders. “I just… we take enough risks without you signing up to get stabbed. Alright?”

She deflated. “I wasn’t going to try. I don’t-- I don’t want to die. What we did was terrible, but dying won’t change anything.”

They looked at one another for a moment, and then resumed walking.

 

Long Night remained informal until the sun went down. Once the last traces of red had faded from the sky, Indra stepped up onto a platform in the center of the new town. A drum began to beat, steady and low, reverberating through the entire gathering. Clarke and Bellamy followed the stream of people to the central clearing. Benches draped with furs stood in a ring, but the only people who sat on them were those who were old, injured, pregnant, or sick. Everyone else either stood, or took places on the ground. Bellamy and Clarke found a place near to where Lincoln and Octavia had settled, seated on top of a middling-sized fur.

A fire burned in the center of the courtyard, slowly dying down to embers. Around them came the hiss of water on hot coals. One by one, the fires throughout TonDC went out. When only the red coals in the central hearth, a woman stepped out of one of the houses, leaning on an ashwood cane. She wore a mask that covered everything except her eyes, and hood covered her hair. The furs she wore were rich and unmarred-- a panther’s pelt, Bellamy observed, and his eyes widened. They had not been able to preserve the skin from the one Wells had brought down, or they would have brought it with them when they came here.

Now, the drumbeats were quieter, filling only the area in which they sat. The priestess-- there was no doubt in Bellamy’s mind that was what she was-- approached the central fire, the charms on her clothes rattling faintly. Indra saluted her, and the priestess inclined her head in response. Then she turned and addressed the gathering. Her voice was like old, worn leather.

“Em bilaik hir ste heda kom Trikru?”1

Bellamy got the sense that the question was purely symbolic. Indra stood right beside the priestess after all. Still, a roar of confirmation went up from the gathered Trigeda. When it faded, she signaled. A young Grounder ducked back into the priestess’s home, and then returned with an armful of dark cloth. When she unfurled it, Bellamy saw that it was cloak of black fur, strung all over with charms of wood and bone. The priestess draped it around Indra’s shoulders, and then spoke some blessing that Bellamy could not quite understand.

Then she turned and faced out again. “Heda kom Skaikru ste tu. Em bilaik shish em op?”2

Silence dropped over the clearing.

Then Bellamy stood, ignoring the matching looks that Kane and Abby were giving him. “Ai laik Bellamy, en I shish Skaikru op.”3

His gaze flicked over to Lincoln, who gave him the very smallest of nods. Bellamy fixed his eyes front again, and then stepped into the open stretch of ground. He could feel the priestess’s gaze on him, and he drew himself up to his full height, staring unflinching into the eyeholes of her mask.

“Good.” Her voice held a trace of an accent. “Kamp raun Indra. En hod op.”4

From someone else, it might have been insulting. The priestess’s tone, however, held no judgment. Bellamy saluted her in the same way that Indra had, and then went to stand by her side. The two of them exchanged a brief chance. A few moments later, the priestess approached with another armload of musty smelling fur in her arms. Bellamy could see the tendons in her hands flex as she draped it over his shoulders. He bowed his head to make it easier for her, and thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile behind the priestess’s mask.

Then she turned from him and began to walk slowly around the fire. The assistant-- her apprentice, Bellamy realized-- drew a final artifact from the shadows near the priestess’s dwelling. It was something like a small sleigh, with pine boughs trailing from the back and two long cords attached to the front. Indra took one, and Bellamy took the other. Wordlessly, Indra directed him to follow her, and they began to walk slowly around the fire in the priestess’s wake.

The priestess began to speak, then, her voice rising and falling like music or rushing water. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lincoln translating, quietly, for the Skaikru, although both Clarke and Octavia had a fair grasp of Trigedasleng.

She spoke of the time before, before the split between the Skaikru, the Mountain Men-- here, he noticed Clarke flinch-- and the Trikru, and how their people had come to be after the Cataclysm. She called it _Praimfaya_ \-- first fire. The priestess told them of the wars and the fighting over resources, and how they had nearly wiped themselves out until finally, after the thirteen clans of the Trikru formed, they had first brokered for peace. They had defined their territories and declared all blood debts washed away.

That night, she said, they met to undergo the ritual that had allowed their ancestors to survive for all these years, and would allow them to continue to survive with their new allies.

Here, she nodded to Clarke, who returned the gesture a little shakily.

“Oso lukots ste hir fis oso gonplei op. Oso na bilaik tiena.” She proclaimed, her voice ringing out across the circle. “Nau oso na breik oso karyon au. Dontaim jus ste gon we!”5

Now, people in the circle began to move. They gathered stones, branches, bits of metal, and held them out as Bellamy and Indra passed. They fell into the sleigh with a clatter.

‘ _Let the past be gone!’_ Bellamy heard the priestess call, and could not stop himself from looking at Clarke. His eyes stayed on her as they made their way slowly around the circle, the sleigh growing heavier and heavier with the weight of people’s pain. Clarke stared back at him, the darkness hiding her expression.

The cold air cut through him, despite the furs draped around him, and Bellamy shivered.

As they neared her, he opened his mouth to tell her to pick up _something_ , but Indra reached out and grabbed his arm. He turned to look at her, and she shook her head. Bellamy closed his mouth again.

There were less than five feet left before they would reach Clarke, and still she stood, staring at the sleigh, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Lincoln and Octavia each held bits of stone, as did Kane and Abby.

Three feet.

Clarke did not move.

Two feet.

He tried to plead with her silently, but with the fire dead, he doubted that she could see his face well enough to understand.

One foot.

And then they were there.

Clarke bent quickly, grabbed the first stone her hand fell upon, and then cast it into the sleigh.

Something in Bellamy’s chest came unraveled. He smiled at her, turning his head as they passed. The sleigh was heavy enough, now, that they had to dig in their heels in order to move it. When they completed their circle, the priestess raised a hand, and they stopped. Bellamy too the opportunity to roll his shoulders a few times. Indra was less obvious about it, but standing right beside her, he could see it even in the dark.

“Nau oso na pul we kom oso--” here, she said something that translated somewhere between ‘burdens’ and ‘pain’. “Heda kom Trikru en kom Skaikru, yo na jak em we?”6

“Sha.” Indra replied, solemn, and Bellamy copied her a beat late.

There were more instructions, then, and Bellamy caught ‘take’ and ‘river’, so he was more or less ready when Indra started in that direction, dragging the sleigh toward the tributary that TonDC used as its water supply. The sleigh bumped and rocked precariously over the roots and stones, but even in the dark, he could see that there had been some effort to smooth the path. White stones stood along its sides to make it easier for them to stay on the correct course. Their breath fogged in the air in front of them. Even the thick furs they wore could not block out the chill. It was a longer walk than he had realized.

When they finally reached the river, Bellamy could not feel his face or his fingers. Still, he did not pause to warm them just yet. He helped Indra to push the sleigh into the river, feet slipping on the frost until, finally, the heavy load shifted and plunged over the edge of the bank. They stood for a moment as the bits of stone and wood and metal tumbled into the water and tumbled away in the rushing current. The sleigh broke apart on a rock a yard or so off, and then travelled off down the river.

“You did well.”

Bellamy looked up, and then over at Indra. “Thank you.”

She clapped him on the shoulder, and then started back toward TonDC.

           

When they returned, a cheer went up from the gathering. The fire was still dead, but a fresh pile of wood sat ready in the central pit. At a word from the priestess, several Trikru came forward with flint and knives. They struck sparks onto torches until the pine pitch caught and flamed. They carried the torches to the fresh, pitch-soaked wood, setting it alight. Once the fire was burning steadily, Trikru came forward, a few at a time, to take pieces of it. The priestess’s assistant and the torch-bearers added new wood at a steady rate so that the fire did not decrease in size.

Bellamy stood off to one side with Indra, watching, as the Skaikru took their turns at the fire. Clarke carried away a burning branch. In the flickering light, Bellamy thought he saw something eased in her expression.

“They’re re-lighting their fires.” Indra explained. “No fires from the old year. A fresh start.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “We need that.”

After a moment’s pause, Bellamy moved forward to take a branch of his own. Indra stopped him with a hand on his arm. “One for each house.” The look she gave him was far too knowing. “Return the fur. Then you may go.”

“Thank you.” He clasped her arm, briefly. “For everything you’ve done for us. Not just tonight.”

In the light of the freshly kindled fire, Bellamy saw something that seemed to be approval on Indra’s face. She squeezed his forearm, and then gave him a none-too-gentle nudge toward the priestess. “Don’t keep her waiting, Bellamy of the Sky People.”

He walked off, wondering if Indra had been referring to the priestess, or to Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Who here is/are the leader(s) of the Tree People?  
> 2 (loosely) There are two leaders of the Sky People. Who speaks for them?  
> 3 I am Bellamy, and I speak for the Sky People.  
> 4 Go to Indra. And wait.  
> 5\. Past (assembled from “done” and “time”) blood is gone.  
> 6\. Now we will drawn away from our… [word not translated]. Leaders of the Trikru and Skaikru, will you take them away?


	3. We Should Just Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated E. It does also contain, you know, the end of the fic. So what you do is up to you.

Bellamy returned to the house once he had returned the fur cloak. Inside, it was cooler than he might have liked, but still warmer than outside, and growing warmer thanks to the fire burning in the central hearth, lit from the branch Clarke had carried back.

“Thanks.” He focused on unlacing and pulling off his boots, rather than on Clarke, as he spoke. When she did not reply, he turned to look at her.

Clarke was in their bed, as he had expected, but she was not asleep. She stared at him, chin set, her hair falling in waves around her bare shoulders.

Bellamy’s mouth went very dry.

“I--” She stopped, cleared her throat. “I did think about this. A lot. This isn’t about guilt or wanting to forget or-- I feel better than I have in a long time, and I want to do this, so if we’re going to, it… it should be now, in case it doesn’t last.”

“Clarke--” His voice was hoarse.

“Wait. Just…” She was blushing. He could see that clearly, now. But she was not sinking further under the blankets or reaching for the shirt-- or the _bra,_ oh _fuck--_ that lay beside the bed.

Their bed.

Bellamy swore softly under his breath, and then quickly raised a hand to forestall any panic he might have caused. “Give me one second.”

Clarke nodded, no longer quite able to look at him.

 

This was nothing like when Raven had come to his tent, or when Clarke had kissed him in the cabin that first time. He could have felt that, even if Clarke had not said anything at all. Still, if they did this, there was no turning back. Their relationship would be changed.

For a moment, Bellamy only looked at her, his gaze fixed on her face. Then, carefully, he crossed the space between them and knelt down beside the bed. “I want to.” He replied, saw Clarke brace herself for the ‘but’, and continued quickly. “If you’re sure, then yes, Clarke, I’ve wanted this for a while.”

She laughed, then, softly. “Well, at least for a couple weeks.”

Bellamy ducked his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh… shut up.”

“Make me.” Clarke went very still, and he looked up.

She stared into his eyes. “Kiss me.”

“Not gonna make the first move?” He murmured, reaching out to slip a hand into her hair.

Their lips nearly brushed as she spoke. “What did you think this was?”

Then he did kiss her, and anything else they might have said was lost to the heat of their mouths. Her hands fluttered from his shoulders to his waist, and then pushed up under his shirt, sure and warm, callused palms dragging over his skin. He pulled away for a moment, just for long enough to toss his shirt toward the wall, and then kissed her again. Clarke tugged him forward with her hands on his hips, and he went willingly. She shivered a little as he moved the blankets so that he could lie beside her.

Now that he was allowed to touch her, he could not seem to decide what to do with his hands. He had thought about it, maybe more than he should have, even before he _liked_ her, much less cared for her the way that he did now. But now, all he could do was hold her to him, one hand in her hair, the other spread over the small of her back as they kissed. Clarke pressed herself against him, breasts soft and warm against his chest, one of her legs-- she was still wearing her jeans, he noticed, hooked over his at the knee.

There, that was a place to start. He made himself shift away from her, just a little, and reached down to undo the button and zipper on her pants. She did this little shimmy as she pushed them off, and all at once, he didn’t really _care_ where his hands were, as long as he was touching her, because she was in their bed and mostly naked and she wanted him.

Maybe tomorrow neither of them would be able to allow themselves this, but for now, they could.

Bellamy kissed down the side of Clarke’s neck, guiding her onto her back. Her legs bent, knees bumping his hips. Her hands were busy between them, undoing his belt, and then his fly. He rolled his hips as he helped her push them, and his underwear, because Clarke was damn efficient when she set her mind to something, down. And then there they were, pressed together just so, only the worn material of her panties separating him from the heat of her. He swore, quietly, and made himself leave them where they were, for now.

His mouth wandered from her neck to her collarbones, and from there straight down between her breasts. She sighed as he pressed another kiss to her sternum. Bellamy took his weight on one forearm so he could smooth a hand up her side. Clarke arched into it, and then grabbed his hand, guiding it to her breast. She pressed until he got what sort of pressure she liked. Then her hand was in his hair and tugging. Bellamy caught a nipple in his mouth half to muffle his groan. Clarke’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into his ass. Her hips rocked upwards.

Bellamy broke away, breathing hard. “Fuck-- fuck. Clarke. Hold on--”

“No.” She tugged his hair again to bring him down for a kiss. “I want you to… I just…” Then Clarke sighed and the tension left her body. “I can’t… hear you say any of… those things.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Those things.”

“You know…” She squirmed a little under him, but not in a way that seemed to be designed to make him forget about talking. “Compliments. Sweet talk…” Something in his expression must have changed, because she scowled at him and set her chin. “Don’t give me that, either. We can argue about… sappy sex later. For now…” The hand in his hair turned gentle, smoothing it down before curling loosely around the back of his neck, “I just want you, alright?”

Bellamy brought a hand up to stroke a thumb over her cheek. “Alright. I can work with that. Just don’t rush me.”

For just a moment, Clarke looked like she planned to argue. Then she leaned up and kissed him, slowly and deeply. Bellamy shifted, pressing their bodies together. His hips rolled against her in time with the movement of their lips. Beneath him, Clarke arched and pulled him closer to her with her legs. Her hands roamed over his back.

It was his turn to freeze, then. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she could feel the raised pattern that covered the backs of his shoulders.

“What… happened?” She asked quietly.

“It’s kind of a mood-killer, princess.” He muttered, and leaned in to kiss her again.

“No--” She turned her face away. “No. If you’re going slow, I get to see.”

Clarke gave him no time to argue. She sat up, maneuvering him so his back was to the fire, and then shifted so that she could see the scars. They were faint, and barely raised, but visible in the firelight. His breath hitched as her fingers wandered over them.

“Are… are they-- do they hurt?”

“No.” Bellamy shook his head. “I took good care of them while they were healing. So--” Only some of the scars were numb, and the one she had settled on actually transmitted more sensation than his skin had before he had been burned. It was hard enough to think without her touching him. “Clarke, I can feel that.”

It took her a moment, but when she got it, she did not pull away. Bellamy gasped softly as her lips brushed against his skin. She peppered kisses across the scars that covered his upper back, her hands resting on his waist. By the time she pulled away, he could not speak past the lump in his throat. There was nothing for him to say, anyway. Instead, he drew Clarke into his lap, kissing her, tongue in her mouth, hands cupping her breasts, then sliding down her sides until he could tug at the elastic of her panties. She raised herself up onto her knees. He pulled that last bit of fabric off of her, watching the way her hips swayed. She tumbled back onto the furs that made up their bed a moment later. Bellamy tugged her underwear the rest of the way off. They landed with the rest of her clothes, and he settled between her thighs.

For a moment, he stayed there, a hand cradling her cheek. Then he bent down to kiss her-- lips, chest, stomach. She gasped as he passed her navel, one of her hands flying to the back of his head. He lingered there. When he kissed her, when the stubble on his jaw rubbed against her skin, Clarke would breathe a little harder. She shifted, knees bumping his shoulders, and he took the hint.

She had to have known what he was planning, but she still gasped when he pulled one of her thighs onto his shoulder and spread her cunt open with the thumb and ring finger of his left hand. When his tongue touched her-- only a long, lazy stroke upwards, to give her a chance to acclimate-- she groaned as if something in her had broken open.  

“Wondered if you liked this.” He admitted, before he pressed his mouth to her again.

She managed to stumble out “You thought about this?” between gasps as he learned how to touch her, where, and how much. His only reply was a quiet laugh, because of course he had, and he’d bet she did to, and another long stroke of his tongue.

Clarke liked for him to go slow, but firm, tracing patterns that had her hips rolling, her thighs tensing around his shoulders. When he lingered with his mouth on her clit, her cries rose until they were almost a shriek, and she tugged on his hair hard enough that he could not mistake it for encouragement. He backed off, tongue slipping around the two fingers he had eased into her.

She was not vocal, either, he noticed, except that one time he pushed a little too hard. Instead, she would writhe on the furs, hands scrabbling at them, or his hair, or his shoulders to brace herself while the muscles in her thighs trembled. He felt her tensing around his fingers, quivers running through her, and he quickened his pace just a little. That made her curl up over him like he’d shocked her, her breath hot on his hair.

“Bellamy--” She shoved at his shoulders and he stopped immediately.

“Clarke? Too much? Did I--” He’d been about to say _hurt you_.

“No, no-- I just-- um.” _Somehow_ , the flush on her face got darker. “Not more than once-- I. I get a bit--”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and then sat up. “Yeah?”

“You can… I mean… Oh, fuck…” She laughed, and then dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I just get a little overwhelmed.”

Bellamy cupped her chin in one hand, tipped her face up gently, and then kissed her. “Might not be a bad thing.”

Clarke let out a shuddering breath against his lips, nodded, and then let him lay her down again. The fingers of one hand tangled in his hair. The other gripped the edge of the furs above her head. This time, when she began to shake, she held him closer, hips bucking against his mouth. He tapped her clit with his tongue, and she was gone, back bowing off their bed.

She came back together with a breathless laugh and finally released his hair.

Bellamy sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “Be right back.”

He got up, shivering at the shock of cooler air on his skin. Then he made his way carefully, and a little unsteadily, to the pitcher of water in the corer. He rinsed his mouth with a handful, and then returned, sliding quickly back into their bed. Clarke pushed him onto his back, and then settled astride him. Her hands smoothed down his chest and abdomen. They traced the angles of his hipbones. He lay still, his eyes on her face, his hands on her hips. Hers tilted backwards, his lifted, and they slid together, his cock slipping against the wet heat of her.

“You sure?” He asked softly.

“Bellamy…” Clarke shifted and reached down to guide him into her. “Yes. Yes I am.”

She sank down, driving a cry from deep in Bellamy’s chest. His hands slid from her hips, up her back, and tugged her down. He breathed her name against his lips before he kissed her. Pressed together this way, her breasts against his chest, knees tucked up against his sides, they could not move much, but they could move enough. He braced his feet as best he could for leverage and rocked up against her. Sweat slicked their skin where it touched. Clarke had shed the blanket. When he broke the kiss to breathe, he could see how the firelight made her shine. The look in her eyes knocked what air he had managed to gather from his lungs. Bellamy leaned up to kiss her again, wrapping an arm more tightly around her waist.

Pressed together like this, the sounds they made had no real chance to make themselves heard. Pleasure built slowly, kindling like coals between them. It took root at the base of Bellamy’s spine. He shuddered, tipping his head back. When she kissed his throat, the groan that escaped it filled the small room.

He rolled them over a moment later, pausing for a moment so that Clarke could wrap her legs more firmly around his waist. Bellamy pressed close to her, keeping the slow, grinding rhythm that she liked. He could feel her shaking, fingernails biting into the backs of his shoulders, but she was _laughing_ , little, breathless giggles rippling through her. They broke more and more frequently around soft cries of pleasure as he picked up the pace, his own need urging him on.

“Bel--” She arched up, eyes closed, head tilted toward him.

Immediately, Bellamy caught her mouth in a kiss.

She bit his lip as she came, not hard enough to make him bleed, but probably harder than she had meant to. He held her, fucked her through it, and then forced himself to pause. The coil of heat in his abdomen was a second away from snapping and if he moved--

“Implant? He asked, his voice rough and tight with strain.

Clarke nodded, her forehead pressed against her shoulder.

“You s--?”

“ _Bellamy_!”

She did something, then, some twist of her hips and tightening of muscles and he had to muffle a shout in her hair. His hips snapped forward four times in quick succession, and then he went still. Everything went white-hot, electric. He made some sound, but could not have told anyone what it was. Then it sparked out, and he was left drained, limbs heavy, warmth suffusing every limb.

Slowly, Bellamy slipped out of her. Clarke stretched, still beneath him, and then squirmed free of his arms.

“I’ll be right back.” She told him, pulling on her pants and his shirt and jacket-- and fuck, he liked how that looked on her. Then she slipped out the back of the house.

While she tended to herself, Bellamy took water and one of the pieces of scrap cloth to clean himself. By the time Clarke returned, he was back in the bed, stretched out on his back, blanket pulled up to his waist. When he saw how she was looking at him, blue eyes lingering hungrily on his chest and shoulders, he smirked.

“Enjoying the view, princess?”

His shirt hit him in the face.

Bellamy laughed and tossed it into the corner. “C’mere.”

“If I didn’t need to sleep…” She muttered, stretching out next to him, bare skin still warm despite her brief walk in the cold night.

“Of course.” He smiled, burying his face in her hair, and then wrinkled his nose. It was cold, even if the rest of her wasn’t. Still, it was not cold enough to make him pull away.

He had gotten used to holding her in his arms. The only change was their lack of clothing and, well, it did not take him too long to stop tripping over that. He was too comfortable to overthink anything, anyway. Their bed was warm, the soft furs shielding them from both the hard ground and its chill. The one they had back at base was a little wider, now, but it was not as comfortable. Clarke seemed to be thinking about much the same thing. She snuggled a little deeper into the furs, and a little closer to him.

“Think they’ll let us keep these? As a Long Night gift?” She mumbled.

Bellamy kissed her hair, a smirk curving his lips. “Think they’ll want them back, after what we did on them?”

She slapped his chest, lightly, but she laughed. “Go to sleep, Bellamy.”

 

He woke the next morning from a peaceful sleep to Clarke running kisses from his jaw down his neck. Bellamy stirred, drawing her a little closer. Her lips met his. This time, they explored less, waking each other with lazy touches and soft kisses. When the heat of their bodies grew to be too much, she settled astride him, letting the blankets fall. By the time they had finished, they had been kicked more or less completely off of the bed.  

They exchanged a few more lazy kisses before they disentangled themselves and rose to dress for the day. Most of their clothes surrounded their bed, although their boots and socks stood by the door, and Bellamy’s shirt and jacket were both in the corner.

They dressed standing by the rekindled fire, all concerns about modesty forgotten. Outside, people were bustling, going about day to day tasks. The holiday was over. Soon, their group would leave for Camp Jaha.

Clarke paused, her shirt only half pulled down. “A good mood isn’t a requirement for us to do this, right?”

He did not have to ask what she meant. “Of course not,” Bellamy replied as he buckled his belt. With their lives, that would be unreasonable at best. “I just… wanted us to start for the right reasons.”

The smile she gave him was warm and fond, and maybe a little bit shy. He kissed her again before he left the house.

Outside, a boy Bellamy recognized as Indra’s new Second stood waiting, shifting from foot to foot. “Indra says you may choose anything you like from the house for a gift.” The boy told them, enunciating carefully.

Bellamy and Clarke looked at each other, and then had to fight to keep from laughing.

“Mochof.” Bellamy replied

“Tel Indra op dei osir…” Clarke paused. “How do you say ‘appreciate’?”

The boy looked at her, shrugged, and then ran off. She sighed quietly, biting her lower lip. Bellamy tucked her more firmly against his side.

“Help me roll up the furs?” He asked. Bellamy turned his head and kissed her hair.

           

Bellamy steeled himself for knowing looks when they met up with the rest of their party at the path that led out of the new TonDC and back toward Camp Jaha. They got them, too, from both Lincoln and Octavia. Abby and Kane were mercifully preoccupied with the horses.

He and Clarke stopped to talk to Indra and the priestess before they left, exchanging good wishes for the new year. In the late morning light, he could see that she was in her early to mid sixties, grey streaking her black hair, her skin worn and leathery, creased more deeply around the eyes and at the corners of her mouth. She looked reminded him of the few grandparents that lived on the Ark, the few that survived in their harsh world.

Indra clapped Bellamy on the shoulder and gave him another one of her secretly approving nods, which he answered with a quick salute and a smile. When he looked over a moment later, the priestess was hugging Clarke. After a few long moments, they let go of one another. Bellamy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

That was when Abby took notice. Bellamy caught the look she gave them and raised an eyebrow. After a moment, she looked away. He let out a little huff of breath, and then went to swing up onto his horse. He settled into the saddle, and then looked over to where Clarke sat easy atop her own mare. There was a lightness to her, now, that he could feel echoed in his own posture. The holiday the night before may have been only a ceremony, with a metaphorical casting away of burdens, but it had worked. For now, they had breathing room, a little freedom from their pain. The furs were strapped to the back of his saddle, and their cabin waited for them back at Camp Jaha.

Bellamy had no illusions; something else would come trying to tear their world apart. Someone else would try to kill them, and winter was not over yet. They would fight it, like they always did. But his relationship with Clarke had changed. She was done holding him at arm’s length, in every sense of the phrase, and he always fought better for what was close to him.

Earth could try to take this away from them all that it wanted. It had enough. This thing that they had, new as it was, whatever it was, was theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at ask-ladyofrosefire if you have questions, comments, or requests.
> 
> A few notes about the ceremony shown in this fic:  
> 1.) I really wish the writers would put more thought into Grounder culture, but since they aren't, I will.  
> 2.) The ritual in this is loosely inspired by one in which I have taken part. As part of it, we threw cremora (no, really, I'm not kidding) onto a burning wreath to symbolize ridding ourselves of what we did not want to carry into the new year. We could also jump over the wreath for much the same purpose. Since the Grounders don't have cremora, I figured this would work, too. 
> 
> A note about cremora: that shit's flammable. Toss it right, and you get a lil' fireball. Don't try this at home. Or, at least, do it outside, in the snow, with a fire extinguisher handy. And someone to use it if you catch yourself on fire.


End file.
